


Something Real

by francoeurs



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, New Relationship, Nightmare, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 14:44:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14083221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/francoeurs/pseuds/francoeurs
Summary: In which Jaime has a nightmare and overreacts just a bit.





	Something Real

Brienne was in the middle of a gruelling sword fight with Paddington Bear when her phone rang and startled her awake.

She scrambled for it in the near darkness and almost knocked her bedside lamp to the floor. A growl of frustration rumbled in her throat as she sank back into her pillow and held her phone above her face. _3:14_ glowed bright white and made her sensitive eyes water.

A wave of alarm flooded her chest when she saw Jaime’s name on the screen.

She quickly answered the call. “Jaime? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” she asked in a rush.

The line was silent.

Alarm turned to panic. “ _Hello?_ ”

“Brienne! Hi,” Jaime finally said, startlingly loud and chipper. “Nothing’s wrong—I’m fine. What are you doing?” he asked lightly, as if they were having a regular conversation.

Brienne sagged in relief, then glared at the ceiling, willing her heart to slow down. Her fingers tightened around the phone.

“Not. Sleeping,” she answered, drawing out the words for emphasis.

“Good. I was afraid I’d woken you up.”

She closed her eyes and counted to five. “Of course you woke me up, Jaime. It’s three in the morning on a weekday.”

“I know,” he said somewhat defensively. “I just wanted to see how you were. You’re all right... right?”

Brienne’s tone changed to one of indulgent exasperation. “I’m annoyed, but yes, I’m fine.” She squinted at the ceiling. “Why?”

“I, ah...” The line went silent again. Jaime cleared his throat. “I had a dream.”

She blinked a few times. “You had a dream,” she echoed flatly.

“A bad one. Ghastly, really. The kind of dream that stays with you for a while.”

Brienne rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. “A dream about...?”

“You.”

Her hand flopped down and hung off the edge of the mattress. “Oh.”

Jaime exhaled long and slow. “I just needed to hear your voice, that’s all. I’m sorry for waking you.”

“Oh,” she repeated dumbly. “It’s fine. I—I’m fine. I’m here.”

“Good.”

There was another long silence.

Brienne picked at a loose thread on her duvet cover. “Are you still there?”

“Yes. I—” He groaned softly and lowered his voice to a near whisper. “I’m standing in your building’s lobby... in my pyjamas. Your scrawny doorman keeps giving me funny looks,” he admitted, embarrassment colouring his words. “ _What’s new, Dick_?” he asked loudly. His voice was muffled, as if he had covered up his phone.

Frowning, Brienne sat up and turned her head to the window. She could see even through the closed blinds that snow was falling heavily outside.

She shook her head in disbelief when a strong gust of wind rattled the window. “You drove for fifteen minutes in this weather in the middle of the night... because you had a nightmare?” she asked as delicately as she could.

“It was a very vivid nightmare,” he said weakly. “I panicked. You weren’t answering my calls.”

 _Panicked?_ Her heart flipped. “You called more than once?”

“I did. You sleep like the dead.” A huff of breath came across the line. “Fucking hell, bad choice of word,” he said quietly, as if talking to himself.

Brienne swallowed against the lump forming in her throat. Her bed frame creaked as she tossed the covers aside and got to her feet. “Give Dick your phone for a second.”

She told Dick to let Jaime up. Less than a minute later, he was knocking on her door.

She opened it slowly, letting in a draft of uncomfortably cool air. She fought back a shiver as she felt goose bumps rise on her bare legs.

Jaime’s face brightened at the sight of her. A sheepish, relieved smile quirked his lips.

“Hi.” He closed the door behind him and locked it before leaning forward to give her a quick kiss.

Brienne stifled a sigh when his lips left hers. She dug her short nails into her palms, swallowing down the urge to ask for more. “Hi.”

She took a small step back and skimmed her gaze over him. He hadn’t lied—the foolish man had actually run out into the snow in his pyjamas. A pair of light grey pyjama bottoms and an old, faded black shirt under a stylish pea coat that probably cost more than her rent. _At least he remembered to grab a coat on his way out_ , she thought.

His hair was flat on one side and sticking up on the other. He still had faint pillow-wrinkles on one cheek.

He looked uncharacteristically rumpled and Brienne didn’t hate it.

She gave herself an internal shake and met his eyes again.

“Are you wearing fuzzy slippers?” she blurted out, at a loss for what else to say.

“Yes. I left in a hurry.” He kicked his wet slippers off, then looked down and grinned. “Cute shorts.”

She followed his gaze to her polka-dot flannel shorts. Had they always been so _tiny_ , or had she somehow had another growth spurt in her twenties? She self-consciously tugged on the hem of her sleeveless cotton top... which had the unfortunate effect of reminding her of how flat and broad her chest looked in it.

She crossed her arms protectively over her barely-there breasts. “Do you want anything to drink? Some herbal tea, maybe?”

Jaime shrugged off his coat and turned to hang it in the closet. “I just want to sleep, honestly,” he said, glancing at her over his shoulder.

Brienne’s thoughts briefly went to her couch. Jaime had convinced her to buy it because it _looked_ gorgeous. Unfortunately, it was also the single most uncomfortable piece of furniture she’d ever owned.

She wasn’t cruel enough to make him sleep on it. He could sleep with her. They’d had to share beds a few times before… _before_. They hadn’t slept in the same bed since they’d become whatever they were now.

A little over two weeks had passed since his accidental, vague confession of maybe-love and her equally vague and cautious response to it. They still hadn’t gone beyond innocent kisses and fleeting touches. They touched less now than they did when they were merely friends. It was as if they were both afraid one wrong move would tear this new, fragile thing to shreds and ruin their relationship—their friendship—forever.

It was maddening.

But at this moment, Brienne didn’t care how tense and timid and just plain awkward things had been between them recently; Jaime needed her. They could get over themselves and share the damned bed.

“Come on, then.” She turned off the hallway lights and walked back to her bedroom. Jaime followed her without a word.

Once there, Brienne lifted the duvet, then went still and peeked at his bare feet. “Are your feet cold? Do you need socks?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “They’re fine.”

Brienne climbed into bed and lay stiffly on her back. “If you say so.”

Jaime slipped in next to her. Close. Close enough that she could feel his heat and smell the fresh citrus scent of his shampoo. She took a breath through her mouth to steady herself.

One of his feet touched hers, and the tension Brienne was holding in snapped like a bowstring.

She jerked away and bit back a curse. “Your feet are like ice! I thought you said you didn’t need socks?” she hissed, curling her toes.

Jaime rolled onto his side, his lips twitching with amusement. “I don’t. It’s nice and warm in here.” He cuddled up closer to her and wrapped one leg around hers, rubbing his cold foot against her calf.

She let out an offended squawk and tried to squirm away, but he locked his arms around her and pulled her to his chest. “Jaime!” she grunted, clutching his T-shirt in her left fist and seriously considering pushing him off the bed. It would be so _easy_.

He had the audacity to chuckle as he released his hold on her. “Hey, you’re the one who’s wearing boxer shorts in the middle of bloody winter. Your heating bills must be horrendous.” He made an appreciative sound in the back of his throat and patted her thigh under the covers. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Brienne stopped squirming. She licked her lips and felt heat flare in her face and lower belly when his gaze flickered to her mouth. “I should have made you sleep on the couch.”

“You don’t mean that.” He ran his fingers lightly over the freckles that covered most of her upper arms. They were clearly visible even in the faint light coming from outside.

Brienne wasn’t sure why Jaime was suddenly being so affectionate and carefree instead of hesitant and skittish — _not that she’d been much better_ — but she was almost as pleased and relieved as she was surprised. She felt like she could finally breathe again after weeks of suffocating.

She relaxed into him and gave him a mock glare. “It's the least you deserve after convincing me to buy that torture device they call a couch.”

He leaned toward her conspiratorially. “It was all part of my plan to get an invitation into your bed. Lannisters know how to play the long game.”

“How Machiavellian of you,” she said, only slightly embarrassed by the hint of breathlessness in her voice. “Was the bad dream also part of your scheme?”

His smile slowly faded. He leaned back and rubbed his scruffy chin. “Ah, no.”

Brienne frowned and combed her fingers through his unruly hair. Jaime tipped his head into her touch. “What did I do in your nightmare?” she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“You didn’t do anything; something was done _to_ you.” He swallowed and raised his hand to her cheek. He traced the strong lines of her homely face in an almost reverent caress, his eyes unusually intense.

Brienne stared back, torn between wanting to hide her face in her pillow and wanting him to never stop looking at her like that.

“There was fire,” he continued. His face clouded with uneasiness. “I couldn’t—” He cut himself off and closed his eye briefly before offering her a tight smile. “It doesn’t matter. It was only a dream. _This_ is real.” He watched her for a moment longer, then slid his hand to the back of her neck and pulled her closer until their lips met in a sweet, lingering kiss.

She leaned into it, her eyes fluttering closed. When she parted her lips on a sigh, Jaime took it as an invitation and deepened the kiss. _Finally_ was Brienne’s last coherent thought for the next few minutes.

His teeth grazed her lower lip when she finally pulled away for air. Warm tingles shot up her spine and spread across her scalp, making her shiver and tighten her grip on his hair.

Jaime was clutching her thigh. She didn’t remember him moving his hand there.

She didn’t remember throwing her leg over his hip, either. Brienne’s face flushed again.

Jaime stole one last kiss before relaxing into his pillow, looking tired but happy. He squeezed her knee. “I’m sorry I bothered you for something so silly.”

“You didn’t bother me,” she said, still half-dazed from his kisses.

He snorted. “Your tone on the phone said otherwise.”

“That was before I realised you were terrified.”

“Terrified is a strong word,” he protested feebly. “I was _worried_.”

She fixed him with an unimpressed look. “My apologies.”

Jaime huffed, but the corners of his mouth turned up.

Brienne studied his expression closely, her thumb brushing the soft skin behind his ear. She could see the exhaustion on his face. “Do you need anything?”

His eyes grew soft and heavy-lidded. “Just let me hold you,” he said quietly. “Or hold me, I don’t care. I just want you close to me.”

His casual admission made her heart melt and her head spin. She lifted her arm to make room for him against her chest. He snuggled close and wrapped his arm around her waist, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She stroked his arm soothingly and rested her cheek on the top of his head.

Jaime nuzzled her neck and placed a feather-light kiss on her collarbone. “I’ll make you breakfast in the morning to make it up t’you,” he mumbled, already half asleep.

Brienne smiled into his hair, knowing he was no cook and she’d probably be eating burned toast and dry, rubbery eggs. She could picture him in her mind, dishevelled and stressed and squinting around her kitchen with bleary eyes.

“Sounds perfect.”


End file.
